initials with a big red heart around them.
“Joey, are you nuts? That’s not funny. Alex is mad enough at us already!”
Joey stuck out her pout-face lip. “Well, I think it’s funny. Besides, who’s going to see it? It’s in the bottom corner.”
“I’m telling you. You better paint over it if you ever want your big sister to speak to you again.”
It felt terrible to be in a house full of silence. I’d been in Alex’s House of Bad Moods before, but this was different. Like a rubber band that you stretch too far and it snaps. Like a bowl you break by mistake, and it stares up at you in pieces.
Ever since Mom got her show and Alex got into the play, something had changed. Something felt broken, worse than a sweater that unraveled or a dinner that went haywire.
Like our whole family was coming apart.
I decided it was up to me to fix it, to make things right with Alex again. After all, I’m the middle sister. I’m the glue, right?
Middles are the peacemakers. I read that in a magazine article once. A real, actual magazine article. Not like the ones Alex is always quoting and pretending she read somewhere.
I remember it said firstborns may be smarter, and last-borns may be shorter, but middles are more likely to live the “exhilarating life” of an artist or adventurer. (Cool!) It named a bunch of other jobs, too. I don’t remember them all, but I remember it ended with firefighter.
So . . . looks like it’s time for me to go put out some fires.
I would have to pull a Martin Luther King, Jr., on my family. Only one problem — Alex still wasn’t speaking to me. So I had to start by getting her to talk.
I waited till Saturday. I woke up early, before Joey or Alex. I went downstairs and made Alex her favorite breakfast. Then I carried it up to her room on a tray, like Mom used to do when we were sick.
I knocked on Alex’s door. “Alex! Wake up!”
No answer.
“I made you breakfast,” I said. “Your favorite!”
“Blueberry pancakes?” She spoke! It was a start.
“No.”
“French toast with blueberries?”
“No.”
“Blueberry anything?”
“Blueberry waffles!” I said. “With warmed-up maple syrup.”
“Just leave it outside the door.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s breakfast IN BED. It’s no fair if you have to get out of bed.”
“And who do you think’s going to open the door? Sock Monkey?”
“C’mon, Alex. Let me in.”
“But I’m not talking to you.”
“You just did.”
“That was a fluke.”
Miracle of miracles, the door opened. Alex stuck Sock Monkey through the crack and made him say, “You can bring Alex the breakfast, but that’s all.”
I pushed open the door.
“Alex, you can’t stay mad at me forever, you know.”
“Yes, she can,” said Sock Monkey.
“But I can’t stand it if you’re mad at me for like the rest of my life. I can’t stand it if you don’t want to be my sister. C’mon, Alex. I said I’m sorry like a million times.”
“Alex said to tell you a million and one times is not enough for what you did,” said Sock Monkey.
“Well, then, how can I make it up to you? I mean her. I mean . . . I made you breakfast. And I did the dishes for you, and I didn’t tell Dad it was you who flooded the bathroom.”
“Alex said to tell you she so did not flood the bathroom!” said Sock Monkey.
“Well, there was a lake on the floor, and Dad was mad, and Alex was the last one in there.”
“Stop changing the subject,” said Sock Monkey. “Alex is the one mad at you, remember?”
“How can I forget? You won’t talk to us, and it’s making Joey cry. Just tell me what to do. Anything. I’ll kiss Sock Monkey. See? Mww. ” I kissed that worn old bag of stuffing right on his ruby-red sock lips. “I’ll kiss paper towels if you want me to!”
Even Alex could not hold back a smile.
“OK. I’ll speak to you and Joey again,” said Alex the Person. “But that’s all. This doesn’t
“Joey, are you nuts? That’s not funny. Alex is mad enough at us already!”
Joey stuck out her pout-face lip. “Well, I think it’s funny. Besides, who’s going to see it? It’s in the bottom corner.”
“I’m telling you. You better paint over it if you ever want your big sister to speak to you again.”
It felt terrible to be in a house full of silence. I’d been in Alex’s House of Bad Moods before, but this was different. Like a rubber band that you stretch too far and it snaps. Like a bowl you break by mistake, and it stares up at you in pieces.
Ever since Mom got her show and Alex got into the play, something had changed. Something felt broken, worse than a sweater that unraveled or a dinner that went haywire.
Like our whole family was coming apart.
I decided it was up to me to fix it, to make things right with Alex again. After all, I’m the middle sister. I’m the glue, right?
Middles are the peacemakers. I read that in a magazine article once. A real, actual magazine article. Not like the ones Alex is always quoting and pretending she read somewhere.
I remember it said firstborns may be smarter, and last-borns may be shorter, but middles are more likely to live the “exhilarating life” of an artist or adventurer. (Cool!) It named a bunch of other jobs, too. I don’t remember them all, but I remember it ended with firefighter.
So . . . looks like it’s time for me to go put out some fires.
I would have to pull a Martin Luther King, Jr., on my family. Only one problem — Alex still wasn’t speaking to me. So I had to start by getting her to talk.
I waited till Saturday. I woke up early, before Joey or Alex. I went downstairs and made Alex her favorite breakfast. Then I carried it up to her room on a tray, like Mom used to do when we were sick.
I knocked on Alex’s door. “Alex! Wake up!”
No answer.
“I made you breakfast,” I said. “Your favorite!”
“Blueberry pancakes?” She spoke! It was a start.
“No.”
“French toast with blueberries?”
“No.”
“Blueberry anything?”
“Blueberry waffles!” I said. “With warmed-up maple syrup.”
“Just leave it outside the door.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s breakfast IN BED. It’s no fair if you have to get out of bed.”
“And who do you think’s going to open the door? Sock Monkey?”
“C’mon, Alex. Let me in.”
“But I’m not talking to you.”
“You just did.”
“That was a fluke.”
Miracle of miracles, the door opened. Alex stuck Sock Monkey through the crack and made him say, “You can bring Alex the breakfast, but that’s all.”
I pushed open the door.
“Alex, you can’t stay mad at me forever, you know.”
“Yes, she can,” said Sock Monkey.
“But I can’t stand it if you’re mad at me for like the rest of my life. I can’t stand it if you don’t want to be my sister. C’mon, Alex. I said I’m sorry like a million times.”
“Alex said to tell you a million and one times is not enough for what you did,” said Sock Monkey.
“Well, then, how can I make it up to you? I mean her. I mean . . . I made you breakfast. And I did the dishes for you, and I didn’t tell Dad it was you who flooded the bathroom.”
“Alex said to tell you she so did not flood the bathroom!” said Sock Monkey.
“Well, there was a lake on the floor, and Dad was mad, and Alex was the last one in there.”
“Stop changing the subject,” said Sock Monkey. “Alex is the one mad at you, remember?”
“How can I forget? You won’t talk to us, and it’s making Joey cry. Just tell me what to do. Anything. I’ll kiss Sock Monkey. See? Mww. ” I kissed that worn old bag of stuffing right on his ruby-red sock lips. “I’ll kiss paper towels if you want me to!”
Even Alex could not hold back a smile.
“OK. I’ll speak to you and Joey again,” said Alex the Person. “But that’s all. This doesn’t
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